Duck, Duck, Goose

On Monday, we split the team in two: one group gave a business seminar to the staff of Cambodian Hope Organization (CHO) to offer advice on ways to enhance their business practices, while the rest of us drove out into the countryside to visit the students of “school-on-a-mat.” Unbeknownst to us, however, it wasn’t a school-on-a-mat but rather four schools-on-four-mats.

We headed out after breakfast and drove down Hwy. 5 just out of town before turning north onto a dusty, dirt road. After several twists & turns along bumpy dirt roads lined with thatch-roofed houses, a few close calls with oncoming traffic and a building with a sign on the fence that read “Land Border Battalion 911,” we pulled up to a cluster of huts.

Moses, a young CHO staff member about twenty years old, was teaching about a dozen young children spread out on a tarp under a tree. On the fold-out easel behind him was a dry-erase board with characters of the Khmer alphabet. They gave us a very warm welcome and we introduced ourselves. Bonnie had the foresight to bring lots of games, toys, and activities. So, we played with them and in return they sang us a song in Khmer.

In addition to being their teacher, Moses is also a mentor of sorts to them. Every day as they arrive, he asks them questions about what’s going on in their lives at home, whether they need any medical attention and reminds them that Jesus, their Lord and Savior, died for them. Before leaving, we all prayed together and I wondered how many of them hear about Jesus from “school-on-a-mat” only to go back to their parents and participate in worshipping Buddha. But as Ashley said, “at least they know both so that later they can choose for themselves.”

The second school-on-a-mat was quite a bit larger, but just as fun. The kids were sitting on a large blanket under a canopy of trees, just finishing up their lessons for the day. We sang songs with them, played jump-rope, and introduced them to Twister. Looking on from a short distance away were several adults laying in hammocks and a mother nursing a new-born. When the ice-cream guy passed on a bicycle hauling a large, orange ice chest on the back, we couldn’t resist buying everyone an ice-cream cone. For 14.5¢ per cone, how could we resist? After a quick prayer from Bonnie, we departed for town for lunch.

After lunch, we made our way to “school” number three. This time they were learning math because I could recognize a few “+” ,“-” and “=” spread amoungst the Khmer alphabet symbols. The teacher called one boy to the board and I’m assuming he calculated correctly because the kids applauded when he wrote his answer. After their lesson was finished, the teacher introduced us and all at once the kids gave us a loud, warm, “Chumree-uhp Soo-uh!” (Hello!).

Over lunch, we decided to add the game duck, duck, goose to the curriculum which became an instant hit. We played Twister again and batted around inflatable beach balls. Since there was no ice-cream guy at this location, Bonnie passed out Blow-Pops along with Silly Bands, coloring books and other toys.

The fourth and last “school” was probably the hardest, at least for me. As we crossed back over Hwy. 5, Tea, our driver, took us down another bumpy dirt road through the tall elephant grass and into a cluster of make shift houses. Built from scrap wood and bamboo lattice-work covered with tar-paper, these dozen or so “homes” lined a bumpy, trash-littered, stretch of real estate criss-crossed by a network of streams or raw sewage.

The mat at this “school” was covered with about 30 kids who were as adorable as any we’d seen all day. From the tiny Meina whose eyes sparkled when she laughed…to the little boy running around buck naked…to Polan, who, for some reason, always over ran the vacant “spot” when being chased in duck, duck, goose.

As I looked at all the laughing, giggling, smiling faces I realized that these kids were all in roughly the same age bracket and trafficking typical victims. How in the world could anyone could sell one of these precious children like you would a head of cattle or piece of property? And not only that, to sell them knowing they’d be imprisoned in a brothel and beaten daily if they refused to allow themselves to be raped repeatedly night after night by stranger after stranger. But yet, statistically, that’s exactly what’s going to happen to some of these happy, laughing, giggling, smiling little girls if organizations like Chab-Dai, IJM or CHO don't intervene. One financial set-back to a family who already has nothing, could potentially cause them to consider selling their most valuable commodity – their daughter’s virginity.

As we drove back to the hotel late this evening, we passed a sign beside the road as you enter Poipet. It read “Help Protect Our National Treasure…” but it didn’t display a picture of the picturesque countryside nor the beautiful temples of Angkor Wat. Instead, there was a picture of a small, young child with sparkling eyes like Meina’s beneath which read “…OUR CHILDREN!” It was a public service announcement to report child-sex tourism. I can only pray that God will use us and these organizations to step in and save these kids from such a horrible fate.